


Apotheosis

by Armos, Bamf_babe



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Amnesia, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Falling In Love, Hannibal (TV) Season/Series 01, M/M, Marriage, Murder Family, Non-Human Hannibal Lecter, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Possessive Will Graham, but only one of them remembers the marriage, now with art umu, what if your cannibal fav spent thousands of years living through human history pining after one man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armos/pseuds/Armos, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bamf_babe/pseuds/Bamf_babe
Summary: Most gods are born from fallen humans.Most gods cultivated pantheons and worshippers.Most gods didn't have a bond born of thousands of years of strife and love.Most gods weren't Will and Hannibal....Will and Hannibal were old gods married and bonded for eternity. Until Will went missing and Hannibal purposefully became a mortal with no memories, the promise of finding Will the only guarantee he had.When Hannibal Lecter is called to the BAU to consult on the Minnesota Shrike case, he hardly expected to learn his life was based on a lie. Now, armed with only his memory, Hannibal has to try and convince his now-mortal husband to fall in love with him all over again.
Relationships: Bella Crawford/Jack Crawford, Jack Crawford & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham & Abigail Hobbs & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 149





	1. Part 1: Mnemosyne

Hannibal’s kitchen was his domain. Surrounded in a shield of stainless steel he crafted intricate meals to his exact specifications. He breathed in as he carefully rolled the sheet of pasta into Paccheri tubes on the cutting board with a dusting of bone and flour on the counter. The sheets of pasta were precisely cut into small rectangles. He carefully rolled one rectangle onto a wooden dowel and dipped a finger in water and ran it along the edge of the pasta. Then Hannibal overlapped it with itself by a few millimeters and sealed it into a tube-shape. They were set aside to dry on the counter for a few hours while he finished the ragù napoletano. The pastel yellow tubes stood tall on rows of baking paper lined trays like so many small soldiers in a battle formation. 

The sauce simmered in a pot on the stove. He had been cooking it overnight, waking up every few hours to stir it. When he was a student in Florence, he had often taken the train down to Naples in the summer. For a few months one year Hannibal had stayed with an older Neapolitan woman and the food she had cooked had been some of the heartiest he could remember and when he went back to Florence he had returned with many new recipes taught over long nights in the kitchen. 

The meat was well-browned and the tomato concentrate had been added slowly enough that a rich burgundy sauce was created and the smell permeated the home. It was times such as this that Hannibal would dance with the idea of holding another dinner party sometime soon. Alas, he had been too busy as of late but perhaps within the next few months, well time would tell. The meat he had used for this dish has come from a man he could confidently call a pig. He had appeared unkempt and unwell everytime Hannibal had seen him arrive at his neighbor's doorstep to meet with her about the upcoming custody battle against her ex-husband. Once Hannibal had taken care of the lawyer, it was unlikely the woman would gain custody of her children back, giving Hannibal further privacy. 

As the pasta dried and the sauce cooked, he brought out some notes on various patients and reviewed them, creating possible treatment plans for the less interesting patients. There were a few that caught his eye however and he made special note of these. One in particular was one Margot Verger. She had only been in his care for around a month now but Hannibal could already tell that this particular patient might become the most interesting project. The resentment she had for her brother was only overshadowed by the fear of losing her inheritance. It was...a delicious sense of irony that drew him in. 

A few hours later he dropped some of the now dried pasta in a boiling pot of water with some salt, freezing the rest, and turned down the heat on the ragù napoletano. Once he had plated it, he sat down and ate it, savoring the taste of a meal well-cooked. Unfortunately he was running low on certain ingredients and would likely need to go out hunting. Hannibal sighed. His work never really was done, was it? 

His feet pounded on the mossy ground as he raced through the woods. Fog curled around his feet as his breath came in quiet pants. This was an unexpected hunt. She was supposed to have just returned from work, she was supposed to have been alone. Instead, the woman had been going out for a run when Hannibal had arrived at her doorstep. The moment she saw him standing there, tools in hand, she bolted. Damn. 

The woman was no one of particular consequence. She was a real estate agent in the area and had billboards up all over town. Her smiling face with its blonde hair and blue eyes always looked down sunnily at Hannibal while he drove to his Baltimore psychiatric office each morning. It was a rather annoying smile. He wanted it gone. Unfortunately for him, this particularly annoying woman seemed to keep up a hearty exercise regime. At the very least he was wearing good shoes to run in, although the slacks and button-up were miserably constraining at best. He could tell she was tiring however and she was also not familiar with the woods near her house, giving her a tinge of fear that would be her downfall. 

Hannibal cut through a small thicket and jumped out in front of her right in her path, tackling her to the ground and covering her mouth to muffle her scream. She tried to bite his hand but he pressed his hand down harder. In a swift cracking motion, he broke her neck and the woman went limp. He sighed. It would not be ideal to create his artwork here and he grimaced at the thought of carrying her body back to her house. It had to be at least half a mile away. Luckily, she hadn’t had any plans in her calendar for the night. Hannibal would just have to hope there would be no unexpected surprises. 

Huffing around half an hour later, he set her body in the yard outside her house, near the woods. Recently, a killer had been terrorizing outer-Baltimore, killing women through violent beatings and leaving their bodies to rot. There was little design and Hannibal found whoever this killer was to be particularly unpleasant. However, the graphic beatings and rotting bodies would perfectly disguise his removal of the organs and their subsequent missing state. Investigators would assume they had been taken by the animals and Hannibal wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of crafting a Ripper murder. He had been rather busy lately and didn’t have time for a dinner party. 

He carefully removed her liver and set it in the cooler he had brought with him. By this point, the night was nearly gone and Hannibal would have to move quickly to make it home in time. He had an appointment today near noon. One Franklyn Froideveaux. Hannibal ran his hands through his hair and sighed. That was one patient that always left his lip curling and his annoyance peaked. However the man was referred by a close colleague and was the heir of a wealthy family as most of Hannibal’s patients were and turning him away would generate fair too much attention in his social circles. Keeping up a facade was exhausting. 

He reached home around 3 am and wrapped the liver as quickly as he could, feeling exhaustion sweep over him as he worked. Hannibal barely managed to crawl out of his clothes before he fell asleep. 

The alarm clock shrilly woke him but a few hours later. Hannibal breathed in and dressed as efficiently as he could, heading to his office with an hour to spare. He set up his notes and let Franklyn in promptly at noon. While he never regretted convincing his assistant to elope with her lover, leaving him with some much needed privacy and a convenient excuse for lack of staff, he did regret how much work it often left him with. 

He paid attention as Franklyn discussed his day, going over every excruciating detail. Hannibal could feel a headache forming in the back of his head as the man rambled on. 

“I was in the grocery store,” Franklyn was saying, “and there was this woman, she wouldn’t stop staring at me. I couldn’t help but wonder, what was wrong with me? Why wouldn’t she stop staring? I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Now I will never know. What if my shirt was untucked, what if I had a stain on my shirt, what if I simply looked wrong? How can I know that my presentation is ever accurate to what it should be?”

Hannibal sighed, “Man is naturally designed to worry about his placement in society. We crave the absolution of the crowd and anonymity of unoriginality. Your worry stems from the desire to fit in and is normal. Your thoughts are simply amplifications of the natural processes we all have.”

Franklyn began to sniffle and Hannibal held out a tissue to the man who took it and blew into it. He set the dirtied tissue down on the table besides him and Hannibal tried to keep his vision neutral with much difficulty. His exhaustion likely didn’t help and he hoped Franklyn didn’t notice his disdain.

 **“** Thank you,” Franklyn said, “I hate being this neurotic.”

 **“** If you weren’t neurotic, Franklyn, you would be something much worse. Our brain is designed to experience anxiety in short bursts, not the prolonged duress yours has seemed to enjoy. That’s why you feel as though a lion were on the verge of devouring you. Franklyn…”

 **“** Yes?” The man said with a quiver in his tone.

 **“** You have to convince yourself the lion is not in the room. When it is, I assure you, you will know.”

Hannibal let himself finish the sentence with a smile. It was the small moments that allowed the monotony to not completely overwhelm him. More than anything, Hannibal wanted for something more, an excitement. He ended the appointment by making sure Franklyn would be here at the same time next week and moved to the private exit, opening the door to find a man already sitting in one of the chairs normally reserved for those waiting for his patients. 

The man wore a long coat and as Hannibal glanced over his attire, his posture he deduced the man is likely some sort of lawman, likely involved in fieldwork judging by his stance. The man stood up and brought up his hand. He looked familiar to Hannibal but he didn’t dwell on it as the man reached out his hand.

 **“** Dr. Lecter. I’m, uh, Special Ag–”

Hannibal interrupted him, not wanting Franklyn to be here for whatever this was in relation to. He mentally ran through a list of recent murders he had committed. Had there been pictures, video? He tried to be particularly conscientious but in the modern world there was that element of uncertainty. 

“I hate to be discourteous,” Hannibal began, “but this is a private exit for my patients.”

The man raised his hands, seemingly apologetic. It appeared genuine. Hannibal narrowed his eyes. 

“Oh, Dr. Lecter. Sorry. Um, I’m, uh, Special Agent Jack Crawford, FBI. May I come in?”

Hannibal kept his face blank but internally he paused, recognizing the name. This was Jack Crawford, Miriam’s mentor. That was the familiarity. He had certainly heard enough about Jack from Miriam, seen photos occasionally as well. He should go visit Miriam soon. It had been too long and she would certainly be missing him. 

Hannibal allowed a thin smile at Jack, “You may wait in the waiting room,” he turned to his patient saying, “Franklyn, I’ll see you next week.”

“Yes.” Franklyn said, eyes wide. Hannibal internally tried not to be annoyed. This would most certainly come up in their next session and he was not excited for it. 

As Franklyn left, Hannibal turned towards Jack saying, “Unless, of course, this is about him.”

Jack laughed a bit, “No, this is all about you.”

Hannibal felt uncertainty clench around his chest as Jack said those words. He felt his shoulders tense and his vision narrow as he began to plan out contingencies in his head. 

“Please, come in,” he said, motioning Jack inside, “So, may I ask how this is all about me?”

“You can ask, but I may have to ask you a few questions first. You expecting another patient?”

“We’re all alone.” Hannibal said. 

“Oh, good,” Jack said, still keeping that upbeat tone. Hannibal wondered if it was genuine. “No secretary?”

Hannibal gave another thin smile. He was unimpressed with Jack’s questions but answering them in any way other than with the utmost politeness wouldn't do, “Was predispositioned to romantic whims. Followed her heart to the United Kingdom. Sad to see her go.”

Jack nodded, moving around the room to look at Hannibal’s drawings. For a moment, he was reminded of Miriam Lass doing the same motion years ago. Luckily he had since then moved his more...incriminating artwork. With Franklin so clearly seeing the agent’s visit Hannibal would only move against the agent in the most dire of circumstances. He picked up a scalpel as the man looked at the drawings, holding it loosely behind his back. It wouldn't go amiss however, to be armed if the situation was necessary. 

“Wow,” Jack said, “Are these yours, Doctor?”

“Among the first. My boarding school in Paris when I was a boy.”

“The amount of detail is incredible.”

Hannibal brought the scalpel out from behind his back, grabbing a pencil and cutting into the wood with the blade, “I learned very early a scalpel cuts better points than a pencil sharpener.”

“Well, now I understand why your drawings earned you an internship at Johns Hopkins.”

Hannibal tried to keep his tone light as he paused in his sharpening, tightening his hold on the scalpel, ready to move at a moment’s notice, “I’m beginning to suspect you’re investigating me, – Agent Crawford.”

Jack laughed, “No, no. No, you were referred to me by Alana Bloom in the psychology department Georgetown.”

Hannibal felt himself relax. He set the scalpel down on the table and moved away. Good. It appeared that Jack was here simply for his expertise. Interesting. He hadn’t talked with Alana in a few months now due to busyness on both their ends. He hadn’t known she had begun consulting for the FBI. He wished she had given him a warning his name was being sent into these particular circles. Still Alana was particularly brilliant and Hannibal said as much to Jack.

“Most psychology departments are filled with personality deficients. Dr. Bloom would be the exception.”

“Yes, she would,” Jack said, looking around Hannibal’s office, “Well, she told me that you mentored her during her residency at Johns Hopkins.”

“I learned as much from her as she did from me.”

“Yes, but she also showed me, uh, your paper. “Evolutionary” uh, “Evolutionary Origins of Social Exclusion”?”

Hannibal tilted his head. Jack had done his research. He found himself liking the man despite his reservations. 

“Yes.”

“Very interesting. Very interesting. Even for a layman.”

“A layman?”

“Yeah.”

“So many learned fellows going about in the halls of Behavioral Science – at the FBI, and you consider yourself a layman.”

“I do when I’m in your company, doctor. Um, I need you to help me with a psychological profile.”

Hannibal appreciated Jack’s minor attempts at flattery and manipulation. On a normal accomplished psychiatrist, perhaps one Dr. Chilton, it might work. Still, he couldn’t help but find himself interested in what the FBI would require his help with. 

“And whose profile is that?”

“It’s complicated. Officially you would be brought on as a consultant on the Minnesota Shrike case, you have likely heard of the disappearances on the news.”

Hannibal nodded and Jack continued, “Unofficially, I require help determining the stability of one of our profilers, Will Graham. He’s a brilliant if eccentric mind and I can’t help but worry about putting him back out in the field. If I could have a psychiatric opinion on the situation, I would greatly appreciate the help.”

“Is there a particular reason he is unsuited for field work?”

“Will has...an overactive imagination. After being stabbed as a detective in New Orleans, he found his way to Quantico as a graduate student and while he rose in the ranks brilliantly, he never took an agent position. Couldn’t pass the psychological profiles.”

Jack moved to put his hand on the stature of a stag on a side table near the wall as he spoke.

“And you wish to enstate him as a special agent?” Hannibal said, crossing the office to stand near Jack.

“Will makes leaps other people can’t understand.”

Hannibal paused for a moment, considering. It had been a while since he had tried to play any real games. His life had become rather monotonous lately and perhaps this would be just the event that might bring something other than the dull chase he currently lived. 

“I will help you with your profile Jack.” Hannibal said, “At the very least, this sounds like an entirely unique opportunity.”

Jack shook his hand, “My thanks doctor. If you wouldn’t mind coming to Quantico tomorrow, the front desk will get you set up with a visitor’s pass and the consultant paperwork.”

“It will be my pleasure.”

The next day, Hannibal made his way into the impressive building that made up the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit. He entered the office and was greeted by an overly-cheery secretary who seemed to take a strange amount of joy in handing his laborious amounts of paperwork required to consult for the BAU. Hannibal sighed. If he wasn’t so intrigued at the challenge presented by this case, he wouldn’t bother. He supposed the interest brought up by Will Graham, a man too unstable to be an agent but too valuable to leave behind, peaked his academic interest as well. 

Just as he finished the paperwork, Jack Crawford came out of a side hall, waving a hand in greeting. 

“Doctor Lecter,” Jack said, “Hello again.” 

Hannibal looked up, “The pleasure is all mine, I must confess I haven’t spent much time alongside law enforcement, I do enjoy seeing behind the curtain so to speak.” 

“I’m happy to hear that, if you wouldn’t mind I would like to bring you down to the lab and bring you up-to-speed on some of the case details the media hopefully hasn't been reporting.” 

Hannibal nodded, “I haven’t been near a lab in years, perhaps it could bring back some fond memories from my school days.” 

Jack chuckled as they walked through the halls, “Fond memories of schooling? I have a rather different opinion myself.” 

“Not a fan of academics?” 

“Oh I enjoy academics in small doses," Jack said, hands in his pockets, "the schooling itself not as much. Too much red tape, too little action.” 

“Placing themselves in ivory towers ignoring the cries of those below?” 

Jack gave a wry look sideways at Hannibal, stopping in front of glass doors that Hannibal could only assume led to the forensic lab “Something along those lines. I hope you aren’t too squeamish around cadavers Doctor Lecter.”

He didn’t give Hannibal a chance to answer, opening the doors and allowing him in. Three people stood in the room. 

“This is Beverly Katz, Brian Zeller, and Jimmy Price,” Jack said, gesturing to each of them, “Everyone, this is Doctor Hannibal Lecter, a new consultant on this case.”

The woman, Beverly, turned to Hannibal and looked him up and down, “First Will now this guy? Anyone else you want to invite into this case Jack? Perhaps there’s a resourceful hunter somewhere who might offer insight into the deer’s motivations in all this.”

Jack shrugged, “We haven’t had a case of this magnitude in over a year, we need all the outside perspective we can get.”

Beverly sighed, “All right then, I guess I should bring Doctor Lecter here up to speed?”

“If you wouldn’t mind terribly,” Hannibal said, “I find myself interested in the deer’s motivations myself.”

Beverly chuckled, “Oh I like him” she said, moving around the metal table and moving back the sheet to reveal the body of one Elise Nichols whom Hannibal recognized from the news. 

“This is Elise Nichols,” she began, “the only recovered body from the Shrike so far. Her liver was taken out and then sewn back in. She was mounted on a set of antlers post-mortem which is the cause of the wounds on her torso.”

Zeller pushed himself off the wall where he had been leaning and moved closer to the body, leveling his gaze at Hannibal, “There’s some evidence to suggest he’s eating them.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. Interesting, “And what evidence is that?”

Price clapped his hands, making Hannibal flinch for a moment and moved around him to open up the body with gloved hands and pull out a liver, “That deduction comes from one Will Graham. See this?” Price said, holding up the liver, “this is one cancerous liver. The Shrike put it back when he couldn’t use it the way he intended. Spoiled meat and all that.”

Hannibal couldn’t help but be fascinated by Will Graham, a man he had yet to meet. To come up with the answer so easily. He wondered what the man would see once they met. 

Zeller scoffed, “Just more of the same crazy.”

Beverly handed Hannibal a clipboard with papers attached, “Here’s the official autopsy reported if you are interested. Right now the main lead we have is a piece of metal shrapnel. It’s being analyzed as we speak but there isn’t much to go on.”

“My thanks, would you mind if I…?” Hannibal let the sentence hand and Beverly waved her hand.

“Take it, we have plenty of copies, I’m sure it would be useful for you.”

Jack then looked up from his watch from the corner where he had been waiting while Hannibal was debriefed. 

“Unless we wish to keep Will waiting in my office Doctor Lecter, I suggest we make our way away from the lab.”

“Your suggestion is duly noted, lead the way.”

Jack moved out of the lab and Hannibal followed, hearing Beverly call out from behind him, “Nice meeting you!” 

Hannibal waved a hand back at her with his free hand while the other held the clipboard with the autopsy report and he heard Zeller mutter something unintelligible. 

The halls were twisting and Hannibal found himself facing the unpleasant experience of feeling slightly lost. Soon, however, Jack stopped outside a small office and opened the door, seeing another man already in the room.

“Doctor Lecter, meet Will Graham,” Jack said, ushering Hannibal into his office. 

“It’s a pleasure,” Hannibal said, nodding towards the man sitting in the chair in front of Jack’s desk. He stepped forward, hand extended to the man, but it went ignored. The man merely gave a tight nod in Hannibal’s direction and said nothing. Hannibal felt his shoulders tighten in offense. His lips thinned and he set the clipboard down on the edge of a couch. Swiftly, he moved to the edge of the office where the case information was displayed on the wall. It gave him time to untense and consider his next move.

He looked at a bulletin board filled with the faces of dead girls. Each one with pale skin and brown hair, plastered onto the corkboard. They seemed wholly insignificant and uninteresting, only important in death.

His mind, instead, turned to the room he willingly stepped foot into just moments before. He hadn’t had much contact with the FBI since Miss Lass’s disappearance and, while he had been hesitant at first, the temptation of playing with Jack Crawford was too large to pass up. He would dangle himself in front of the agent gleefully, hidden in plain sight.

Following this same vein of thinking, Hannibal considered Will Graham, the man Jack had asked him to profile, who had yet to say a word to him. He considered this man to be quite rude and weighed his options carefully. Would this man be particularly missed if he were to suddenly go missing a month or two down the line?

Cutting this line of thinking short, Hannibal faced the board and leaned forward.

“Have you had many interviews?” Hannibal asked. 

“Twelve, the last time I checked. None of them had any details,” Jack said from beside Hannibal, turning away. Hannibal watched him make his way back towards his desk. 

“Until this morning,” Jack continued, sitting down, “and suddenly they all had details. Some genius in Duluth PD took a photograph of Elise Nichols' body with his cell phone, and shared it with his friends. Freddie Lounds posted it on Tattlecrime.com.”

Hannibal heard Will mutter a quiet, “Tasteless.” Those were the first words he had deemed to speak since Hannibal entered the room.

Hannibal felt his lips twitch, turning to Will with restrained mirth, “Do you have much trouble with taste?”

Quickly, Will responded, “My thoughts are not often tasty.” 

“Nor mine,” Hannibal said, “No effective barriers.”

He moved towards Will, noticing how the man kept his eyes steadily trained on the desk in front of him as though it was his personal lifeline. His shoulders were curled forward and every line of his body held tension like a tightly wound cord upon a violin. He gave the impression of prey waiting for the moment the trap would close around him. Will Graham ignored Hannibal as he circled him like a hungry shark.

“I build forts,” Will said a moment later, taking a sip from his coffee. His gaze never strayed from the desk. Hannibal assumed he was counting the faint scratches in the surface to keep his eyes from darting about the room with restless energy.

“Associations come quickly,” Hannibal said, sitting down. He barely caught Will’s whispered phrase of, “So do forts.”

His lips twitched again. Will Graham was proving to be quite entertaining.

Hannibal went to raise his coffee cup to his lips. He decided to push Will Graham a little just to goad a response from the man. He wondered if he would remain entertaining or if his reaction would fall flat.

“Not fond of eye contact, are you?”

Then, Will quickly towards Hannibal, his voice stuttering, “Eyes are distracting. You see too much, you don't see enough.”

Will moved his eyes from the desk and let them dart to Hannibal’s face quickly, looking him in the eye with confidence. It was a swift contradiction from his words, the shakiness of his voice. It was unnaturally attractive and entirely too enticing.

Quite suddenly, Hannibal felt…. wrong. The world felt incorrect. Something was off, not right. His skin felt stretched across his frame, itchy and burning, and he felt like he was being swallowed by Will’s blue-green eyes. Drowning. Were they always that color? It didn’t seem right. They seemed too dim. 

They should be - _cerulean_ \- a voice in his head said. _They should be cerulean_. 

Hannibal couldn’t focus on the words coming out of Will’s mouth. It was only the years of training, years of cultivating intense body control, that allowed him to remain perfectly still. He retained any tells of the growing headache and confusion and wrongness inside of his rapidly calculating mind. He blinked.

“-Oh, is that a burst vein?” Will carried on with a sardonic lift to his mouth as Hannibal drifted back into awareness. “So, yeah. I try to avoid eyes whenever possible. Jack?”

“Cerulean,” Hannibal blurted quietly, unable to stop himself. 

Will’s brow furrowed as he turned back towards him.

Jack paused, “What was that?”

Hannibal closed his mouth with a click, mentally chastising himself for allowing his inner thoughts to slip. 

“Just a stray thought. I apologize. I did not mean to speak aloud,” he said, quickly trying to shift subjects and settled on Will’s previous half-heard statement. “What you see and learn connects everything in your mind. You refuse to look into the eyes of others because you fear their reflection following you back into the recesses of your mind. No room in the bone arena of your skull for the things you love.”

Hannibal finished his sentence with an internal sigh of relief. He couldn’t stop himself from staring at Will Graham. There was an unknown feeling in the back of his mind, an intense sensation that felt akin to a dense cinderblock being roughly shoved into the back of his brain, causing a particularly nasty headache to form. Hannibal restrained himself from pressing his hand to the side of his head in agony. He couldn’t concentrate on the conversation at hand.

Vaguely, he heard Will angrily asking Jack whose profile he was working on. Hannibal had an apology and excuse ready on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t force words past his pursed lips. It hurt to look at Will Graham but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. His eyes were burning from the strain of maintaining his gaze. Hannibal blinked and managed to shift his view to Jack’s desk and remained silent. It took a surprising amount of effort.

“Don’t have _someone_ ,” Will spat, gesturing at Hannibal, “psychoanalyze me, Jack. You won't like me when I'm psychoanalyzed.”

Then Will stood up and began gathering his things.

He paused before storming out of the room with a terse, “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go give a lecture… on psychoanalyzing.”

Jack then turned to Hannibal with a sigh.

“Maybe we shouldn't poke him like that, Doctor. Perhaps a less, uh, direct approach.”

Hannibal could hardly see straight at this point and simply nodded.

“Perhaps. His empathy makes it...uncomfortable and dangerous to interact.”

A lance of pain shot through Hannibal’s head and he wasn’t able to stop himself from pressing his hand against his temple in an attempt to alleviate the pain. 

“Doctor Lecter?” Jack asked, concerned.

Hannibal held up his other hand, “A small headache, nothing to be concerned over. If you don’t mind, I am going to take my leave now. I will do my best to help Will. Please, keep me updated. Have a pleasant afternoon, Jack.”

He got up with a wince and left Jack’s office, walking briskly to his car. Nothing felt right. He didn’t feel right. 

Sliding into the Bentley, he allowed himself to curl forward in the front seat as he let out a grunt of pain. Spots danced in his vision. He was quite concerned he wouldn’t be able to drive home. He grit his teeth and shoved the concern away. He would not be cowed by a migraine.

He unlocked the glovebox and retrieved the painkillers he kept stashed away in case of emergencies. Dry swallowing the pills he considered the hour and a half drive back to his home.

Once it was apparent the pills were doing nothing to dampen the pain he took to speeding. He made it home in under an hour, dry heaving and holding down bile with sheer force of will. 

He parked the car and he stumbled out, vaguely hoping none of his neighbors could witness his tripping up to his front door. Once in the foyer and the door shut firmly behind him, Hannibal collapsed against the wall. Breathing heavily and attempting to quell the automatic gagging his throat was forcing upon him, he put his head in between his knees. He breathed in deeply and felt his lips curl into a furious snarl when his breath released in a stutter.

Will Graham, his mind kept repeating. 

Will Graham. 

Will Gra-

Will... Wil…

 _Vilja_. 

Oh, God, Gods. A bright white flash bloomed behind closed eyelids and Hannibal let out a small cry. His skin once again felt too tight and he felt his flesh begin to tear apart. His skin was falling away, torn at the seams, and he didn’t understand. Everything burned. He felt vomit dribble past his lips. 

Deliriously, Hannibal wondered if he had been drugged when he stepped into Jack Crawford’s office. Lifting his head- Hannibal saw it. A large black stag, staring him down with hoofs clicking on the marble flooring. It had feathers rather than any semblance of fur. He could feel the sticky heat the beast gave off and smell the scent of the woods on its breath. While looking at this strange creature lingering in his foyer, he clutched his head tighter and gave out a cry of agony. 

His vision narrowed and all he could see was the stag, the pain in his head reaching a fever pitch, and he saw the stag click its sharp hooves against the floor. Staring deep into his eyes, the beast lowered its head and prepared itself to charge. Hannibal tried to get up, to run, but his legs were unresponsive beneath him. He staggered to his feet and leaned against the wall with great labor only for the stag to take that moment to impale him on its antlers. He felt nothing, blankly blinking down at the protrusions in his chest, before blazing hot agony bloomed across his body. The stag stepped back and he felt himself unceremoniously slide back down onto the floor in a crumpled heap.

At that moment, Hannibal felt a certain amount of detachment from his body. He heard a ringing in his ears, echoing around his skull. He was in so much pain, more pain than he could comprehend ever feeling in his life, and he was confused. He watched as his own blood leaked out of his body and into a lazy pool around him. His vision began to waver, going in and out. Every exhale was more painful than the last and he believed his lungs may have been punctured. 

He couldn’t fully piece together what was happening. Death at the hands of a hallucination. How had the beast gotten in, what was its purpose here? He wondered who was standing in that stag’s place, watching him die a slow and undignified death in his home. Everything he had been working towards, every idea and plan was dying along with him, and he had no understanding of why. He received no answers. He would die here, alone and confused and lost, surrounded by his bed of lies and empty luxuries. His vision finally went out.

Hannibal Lecter breathed his last.

A moment.

Then two. 

Most gods are born from fallen humans. Each God is given an innate purpose and duty which are followed to the instinctual letter. To deviate from Fate’s design was to welcome grave consequences. To ignore their duties was to welcome extinction. 

Most gods cultivated pantheons and worshippers. Worship and prayer brought a transcendent feeling, a pure ecstasy, and the more offerings received the stronger the God became. 

Hanníbas had been a great hunter, the finest in his tribe. For years, Hanníbas had worshipped the gods, had given tribute in flesh and blood of himself in hopes of worship and success. His people had lauded great rewards upon him and it had been a great tragedy for his tribe when he had been cut down in battle, in the hunt of a rival. 

Hanníbas ascended then, in death, as a god of hunt. From the moment he opened his eyes, reborn, he knew his purpose. He was a god of hunt, though he hunted much larger things than that of wild animals. He was worshipped with the taste of blood. He revelled in the deaths of men and gained satisfaction from their flesh being ripped and consumed from bones. He stoked man’s craving to see the mighty and powerful fall, brought to death by supreme violence. 

Hanníbas was not unique. There were many other gods of the hunt. Hanníbas was simply one of many. He efficiently fulfilled his purpose through sewing discontent and fear. He manipulated the human desire to kill and hunt for sport.

It took him a number of years to learn how to recreate the image of his human form but eventually he succeeded. Oftentimes, he feasted alongside them in disguise. He would thread words of honey together and whisper in the ears of men, causing peaceful nations to fall to war, and he watched with amusement as warriors slaughtered their enemies in brutal battle. He was content. Hanníbas wanted for nothing but his purpose. 

Until Vilja. 

Time marched forward and blended together.

Hanníbas and Vilja became Hanníbas and Wil. 

Hanníbas and Wil became Hannibal and Will.

Their existences were intertwined, conjoined, and irrevocable.

His beloved husband,the one responsible for changing him- molding him. Where he was the land, Will was his Ocean- a love vast, deep, and incomprehensible.

When Will had gone missing, Hannibal had foolishly taken a bargain of Fate in his desperation to find his missing husband. The rules of the bargain were simple- be borne as a mortal babe and go through life as a man. He would remember nothing of his true form, nothing of Will, and would only regain his true self once Will was found. He was advised to consider the risks of accepting this deal, of never finding Will and dying a mortal man, but he brushed the warnings aside. The risks were worth it compared to the alternative of a lonely heart-broken existence for all eternity.

Shifting from his position on the floor, Hanníbas blinked open glowing gold eyes. He stood and disregarded the torn clothing upon his body, as though it did not even exist, and he stepped through a shallow puddle of his own blood. The Ravenstag stood opposite him and he beckoned it over.

“Good girl,” he said, petting her flank, “Thank you for helping me wake up. Quite a nasty little trick Fate tried to play on me.” 

A human’s mind is not capable of remembering the life of a God. They were attempting to snuff him out before he had the chance to reawaken. He silently planned a visit to Fate sometime in the future, if only for answers.

He looked dispassionately at the bloodied clothing and floor, as though just remembering the state of his appearance and home, before waving the mess away with a flick of his wrist. He took a moment to ponder his situation.

His two sets of memories converged on each other at that moment, clashing and fighting for dominance. Of course, no few decades of a mortal’s life could compete against the thousands of a god’s but Hanníbas found that the knowledge that as a human he now knew Will, could become close to Will, kept his… newfound humanity, loathe as he was to call it, at the forefront of his mind. This was why he had awakened. He had finally found Will after all these years. 

Hannibal still didn’t understand how Will had ended up mortal and desperately wished to know if his husband remembered anything of their former lives but he comforted himself with the knowledge that his husband was now within grasp. The knowledge he had found Will once more filled Hannibal with a sense of relief. Less than a year had passed after Will’s disappearance before he struck his deal. He should have known better than to let Will from his sight with his husband’s curious nature and he would not make the same mistake twice.

Immediately, Hannibal tried to reach across their bond to see if Will was there, if he too had been awakened. He felt nothing but a sea of inky black and for a terrifying moment he believed Will was dead, gone, sea foam. However, that wouldn’t make sense. He saw Will earlier that day. 

With a frustrated sigh he was forced to accept Will was now human. The space Will filled in his mind, usually flooding his half of their bond with warmth and affection, was now shallow and murky. Hannibal could tell he had access to the deeper reaches of Will’s mind, even as a human, but his husband sensed nothing in return.

Hannibal felt empty.  
He looked around his home, taking stock of what he had managed to accomplish as a mortal. Hannibal had always been rather vain. He enjoyed living in the lap of luxury and purveying the finest humanity had to offer so it was no surprise that he was similar as a human man. Of course, this home in Baltimore could not compare to the luxuries of the Han Dynasty or the glamour of Caesar’s assassination but it was all his. There was something fulfilling in that statement. This home felt like a temple to him. Hannibal had never taken a temple as a god, never seeing the need. He and Will were more nomadic by nature but, he could admit, feeling the focusing energy of this space he called home he could certainly see the appeal now. 

He chuckled to himself, recalling previous half-formed plans centered around killing a young girl in so much the same style as the FBI’s current murderer-of-the-week. The idea suddenly seemed unappealing, boring, lackluster. He didn’t have time to dwell on petty humans and insignificant deaths while also worrying over his current situation. There was, however, a certain something about the murderer of those unfortunate girls, something about this killer that drew Hannibal in deeper.

Even with this in mind, and personal acknowledgement that he normally would relish the thrill of a good hunt, he found himself simply too tired to ponder over these vague half-feelings the Minnesota Shrike conjured up in him. He would have to think of a way to determine this killer’s identity in some way. For now, he needed rest. He may be a god, but even Gods grew tired and weary at the end of a long day. Hopefully, in the morning, he could be in the presence of his beloved once more.

After so long apart, a reunion was finally within reach. 

As he lays his head down to rest he feels his lips twitch into a smile. The past certainly does repeat itself in unexpected ways.

…

_1180 BCE, Troy, Greece._

_Hanníbas watches as Troy burns. His hands are red with the blood of those who came seeking glory but found only obscurity. He laughs to himself. Mortals run their lives in circles, calling to the skies for their gods, never remembering that often the gods walk among them. His eyes reflect the burning fire in the dim twilight sky. He wasn't sad to see the city fall but he did feel somewhat disappointed to see the end of the hunters and heroes it produced. The line of Hector was over. Hanníbas turned towards the beaches of Troy. It was time to begin anew._

_His thoughts are distracted by a mortal running into him. His mouth curls into a sneer as the young woman weeps, words falling from her mouth in fear, "Please, you must help me! They are going to kill me! Sir, please, you must try and save me- save us- what is left of us, at least! Please, I beg of you!"_

_She is wearing the mulberry dyes and golden jewelry so common in Troy. Hanníbas looks down. He is wearing the uniform of a Trojan soldier. Ah. He can hear her pursuers coming closer. The taste of the hunt blooms in the back of his mouth. The rough footfalls grow louder._

_He warmly smiles at her, grasping her arms right back, and says, "I'm afraid the only chance you have is to run."_

_Then he vanishes from her sight, leaving her stumbling. Torches appear in the brush behind her and she gasps, running to the sea's edge while Hanníbas watches on unseen. Achaean soldiers come pouring onto the shoreline and laugh at the weeping woman._

_"Princess Polyxena," one man says, his mouth in a sneer, "come to rest near the grave of Achilles himself. Your gods have abandoned you-"_

_Hanníbas doesn’t catch the rest of the sentence as he feels a hand come down on his shoulder. He swings around to see another immortal. This god has brown hair curling at the nape of their neck and glowing cerulean eyes, bright tear tracks marking their cheeks, and they have an ethereal halo surrounding them. They have on a simple white tunic and their feet are bare, like so many men around them._

_They are gorgeous under the night sky._

_"Why are you watching?" this newcomer asks, their head tilting towards Hanníbas. They have no pupils- their bright eyes seem to look see nothing and everything all at once._

_Hanníbas scoffs._

_This is clearly a newer god, one that has not walked among humans and has made no effort to be seen or understood. He doubted this god has any worshippers. Might be a minor god of beauty, if their general appearance means anything._

_Hanníbas recognizes that he is not an old god, certainly not. He has however found a home among humans and delights in playing their games. He takes great joy in walking among them only to reveal himself on his whimsy just to feel the satisfaction of their awe and terror._

_"The longer I am here, the longer they will taunt her," Hanníbas says. It is true, his mere presence employs the Achaeans soldiers to further torment the young princess, taunting her with death but not actually committing the crime. He enjoys drawing out the hunt._

_"And you still wear their flesh-- for what?" the young god asks, head tilted with a mocking grin. Hanníbas feels his shoulders tense. This god knows exactly what they are doing, standing in Hanníbas' domain, taunting his choice of disguise. It is not only a slight to his chosen form but his appearance when he was a mortal man. He pressed his lips into a line, offended, and sheds his human skin. Trojan armor melts away replaced by a gold tunic wrapped around his body. The blood on his hands seemingly melts into his skin, turning black and running through his veins, and black antlers sprout from his head curving high into the night sky._

_Hanníbas looks over at the god, "To blend in among mortals is the greatest skill a god could have. To walk among them unseen and unknown, to have power yet not reveal it."_

_The other god is silent, amused, watching the soldiers grab the princess and hold a knife against her. He watches as it digs into her side. Hanníbas feels his shoulders stiffen further at how this-- this--- babe of a being did not even deign to glance in his direction!. It is a known courtesy for a new babe to give proper respect to their elders. Whoever this god had been before they died, they must have been spectacularly rude to not even acknowledge Hanníbas yet._

_Hanníbas continues, annoyed, "What is your purpose here?”_

_"I wait."_

_"For what?"_

_Then one of the Achaeans stabs the girl through the side and throws her body into the ocean, her blood staining the water as she gasps for life. The men laugh and turned away, heading back to their camp._

_"For that," the god says, no longer carrying their quiet mirth. They make their way to the dead body, observing the young princess as she floats on the waves with rivlets of red bleeding sluggishly out of her. They wade into the ocean as Hanníbas watches from the shore._

_Hanníbas stares, as this other creature kneels down and thrusts his hands into the girl's chest. He pulls away and removes a small blue wisp, the same color as the god's eyes, from her chest cavity. The body stills and stiffens as soon as the god's hands are free._

_The god looks up at Hanníbas and he observes that their tear tracks seem to be moving, cerulean tears flowing down their face, somehow staining their tunic. No actual tears spill from this God’s eyes. Hanníbas has the strangest desire to suck the liquid staining the tunic out of the fabric, to walk into the ocean, and know the meaning of those tears. He has never cried before, though he does not know whether it is from inability or lack of desire._

_"Mortals are beyond cruel," the other says, looking at Hanníbas from within the sea._

_Hanníbas feels affronted, brushed aside. He wants this being to look at him with respect, desire, as he looks at them._

_He moves towards the water, grabbing at bony inhuman shoulders and turning their form towards him._

_“What claim do you have to this soul? There is no desire, no will, flowing through your veins-- You are but a new god, stumbling on the legs of a babe in a world you do not understand. You are to respect those gods which show you grace, young-one, and offer worship in payment. Yet you scorn me through disregard.” Hanníbas spits in righteous anger._

_A spark of anger, no-- fury, within cerulean eyes burns bright and central. A sudden overwhelming presence, as large as all the Oceans and seas and lakes and ponds littering the world together, sinks and pulls Hanníbas in and he drowns in it. He realizes his mistake. This is no new god._

_Most gods are created from fallen humans, this is true, however, some gods were created from the universe, the cosmos themselves. They are children of the stars and were raised by the will of the universe alone. They are creatures of vast power and reach, limited by little except maybe their inability to understand mortal things. And Hanníbas? He had just slighted one of these higher forms with his impulsive mouth._

_“A child, a mere babe, and you presume to speak?” The other asks, the soul in their hands sparking with anger. “Do not speak with a loose tongue and learn respect. I may strike you down and rip your fledgling soul from your lips if I wish it. All you need do is step in my waters and you will be no more, ripped to shreds and food for my children.”_

_Hanníbas feels this overwhelming power twisting around him, threatening him, filling his lungs. Hanníbas chokes on the seawater now flooding his lungs. As he coughs and gasps for air that will not come he, too, stands in awe. This creature so above him, who he has offended with his foolish brashness, seeks his death. He is struck with pure desire. If this God wishes him dead then he will gladly lay at his feet and be washed away._

_As though sensing Hanníbas’ lustful thoughts the other turns away and begins to walk further into the sea. His anger is seemingly dissipated and Hanníbas is left gasping into the air. Before he fully understands why, Hanníbas finds himself running out to the sea and catching the hand of this new god._

_"Where are you going?,” he asks, desperation taking over him. He does not want to be left alone again._

_"I am giving her soul to the afterlife. I protect those taken at sea,” A moment passes, “ Why are you holding me? Did you not understand my warning?”_

_Hanníbas lets go of the hand though it takes most of his willpower. He cannot explain the connection he feels._

_He brings death and this god brings conclusion- absolution. How, although he has met immortals that roam the earth, Hanníbas has never met anyone who did not try to interfere. How the tears moving down this other’s face makes Hanníbas want to cut into those lines and see what is underneath, to drink from their skin and worship them with his whole being._

_He says none of these things._

_Instead, he asks, "What is your name?"_

_Names are a powerful thing to a god. They allow for summons and prayer. Blasphemy and worship on the breaths of dying men. He receives a smile, once again mocking and amused. He thinks it looks like a cruel twist of the mouth and he wants to bite it._

_"I don't have a name. Perhaps, one day, I will allow you to call me by one."_

_Suddenly they are gone, a spray of ocean water, and Hanníbas is left alone on the shore of Troy._

_The city burns behind him._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright!! So Armos and I are having so much fun writing this! and really hope you like it too. 
> 
> Here is art for the chapter:
> 
> If you are interested in the recipes used during the chapter, here they are:
> 
> [Homemade Paccheri Pasta ](https://pastaetal.com/recipes/pasta-recipes/handmade-paccheri/)
> 
> [Ragù Napoletano ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNSR5k9Fb5I&vl=en)


	2. Part 2: Beowulf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was harder to write than I expected! Mostly because it's interesting but difficult to get a feel for Hannibal's character. On the one hand, murder is fun, on the other, he's used to murdering thousands of human a year so a dozen or so means nothing to him. This fic's alternate title could literally be: Hannibal simps for Will Graham throughout human history so that's fun too. 
> 
> Also, shout-out to Armos for doing what I cannot and writing smut scenes, they are infinitely better at it than I could ever be.

Hannibal woke to the sound of the phone ringing on his bedside. He groaned, momentarily caught in the dregs of sleep before moving his finger across the screen and answering. 

“Hello?” 

“Doctor Lecter,” Jack’s voice came across the line clear and awake, “I hope you had a restful night.”

Hannibal felt his mouth twist into a smile, it certainly was an illuminating night, “As restful as an active mind can ever be.”

“I was hoping you might be able to make it out to Duluth, Minnesota today. The metal piece we were analyzing came from a specific type of pipe and we have agents checking out different construction locations around the state.”

Hannibal sat up in bed, running a hand slowly through his hair, “And how could I be of particular help in regards to construction?”

“I am currently still in court for an old case that requires my testimony. As of now, Will is in Minnesota alone and I believed it would be useful for you to work alongside him, see him in action so to speak.”

For a moment, Hannibal was confused. How could he not know Will? He already knew the recesses of his husband’s mind, there was nothing that Will had experienced that Hannibal wouldn’t know- He stopped. Will Graham was not his Will. Certainly he looked like Will and from the short meeting he had experienced, Will had acted similarly to how Hannibal expected. However, living a mortal life was different and it could change someone in small ways. The moral experience was so entirely different from the godly one that Hannibal would likely have to take some time to categorize these differences between his Will and the man he was profiling. From firsthand experience, Hannibal knew how different you could be as a god and as a mortal. As a mortal, Hannibal had been selfish, more so than he ever had been as a god. He had seen himself as the center of everything and his desires of the utmost and highest importance. His absolute self-confidence and arrogance in his own plans would likely have been his downfall had he remained mortal. 

He realized Jack was still on the line, waiting. 

“I will be on the next flight soon. I am assuming an overnight bag will be required?”

“Yes, and thank you Doctor Leccter, the FBI will of course reimburse you.”

There was a pause, then Jack spoke again, “Be careful Doctor Lecter that your assumptions about Will don’t push him away too quickly.”

With that oddly cryptic statement Jack hung up, leaving Hannibal alone. With a wave of his hand, an already prepared overnight bag flew out of Hannibal’s closet. It was a habit he had gotten into while working in the Emergency Room and one he hadn’t gotten rid of. As he dressed he thought about how he supposed he was grateful for his years as a mortal. He had always been good at blending in with humans, but the art of living like a mortal was one that had to be learned. His few decades as a mortal had served him well. 

He laughed as he walked past the pantry on the way to the door. Hannibal had thought himself so powerful as a mortal, taking human lives and consuming them. He now realized he was simply going through "withdrawals," in a way. He consumed the flesh of humans for connection, to take the best parts of them and their lives and absorb them into himself. He consumed them for their worship. Also, quite simply, they tasted good. 

_Wil…_ Will did not need to feast on the flesh of humans to have that connection, that power. Will was as old as the seas themselves, every soul to die in his waters or on his shore, every soul taken and dissolved in his salty waters. As long as Will existed there would be the Oceans and lakes and ponds and streams. He would never need to feast when the entirety of this world was made to feed him. He only ever partook at the behest of Hannibal, to satisfy some deep urge that pulled at his gut, something that tasted like victory on his tongue. 

It had been dangerous, the games the Fates played when he was awakening. In order for a mortal to truly ascend to godhood, they had to die, the more symbolic the better. The Fates knew that a mortal’s mind would not be able to handle a god’s and if Hannibal hadn’t been mounted on the antler’s of one of his loyal ravenstags or found some other way to kill his mortal form, his mind would have burnt itself from the inside out. It was nothing less than an extremely unpleasant way to go and Hannibal felt an angry hunch curve into his shoulders as he thought about how the fates had almost manipulated him into non-existence. 

Hannibal came back to himself softly stroking the pantry door frame. He leaned his head against the door and took a deep breath, preparing himself to act his part. He would drive to the airport, board the plane, and act as a regular citizen the whole way. It gave him time to settle and plan his next course of action, how he would act around Will, and what he hoped to accomplish.

There was no way of knowing if the fates truly wanted him to awaken Will or not. Judging by how they almost had him murdered, Hannibal somehow doubted they had a goal of reuniting them. This meant he had to appear as human as possible when he was in public, around other people. The fates would be watching and if he managed to keep up the ruse that he had not yet awakened they might not interfere for longer. Of course, Hannibal had no way of knowing what the fates looked like. They regularly changed their appearances and over the years had taken on many forms. This meant he had to be even more careful, he couldn’t know who might be reporting back to the Fates. 

While Will might be the darling of the Spinner, the Measurer, and the Cutter; the New Moon, the Waxing Moon, and the Full Moon; Maiden, Mother, and Crone; Birth, Growth, and Death; or whatever names those Morai, those Fates were claiming nowadays; Hannibal, was an interloper. He still remembers when he had finally proposed to Will and that night he had been whisked away only to find himself in the godly court with Justice looming over him with the Measurer in front of Justice, telling him that if he harmed Will he would be unraveled out of existence. Hannibal rubbed his chest at the reminder of her gently unspooling his life’s thread and holding it in front of him, toying with it. 

Hannibal would have to be careful. Likely the Fates thought they were giving Will a well-earned break from him or perhaps humanity a well-earned break but he would not be so easily cowed. He knew how to play the long-game and was all-too-ready to partake. 

He was delighted to learn that he still hated plane rides. It was so much easier and faster to just…. Willfully appear wherever he may wish to go than to sit in a human contraption that smelled like unwashed feet and stiff boredom and, god forbid, the stench of aroused humans sneaking into the plane bathroom. Will had convinced him to try commercial airlines when they became a popular mode of transportation, Will and his insatiable curiosity for what he cannot understand. It was boring and tedious then…. It remains boring and tedious now.

Once the plane landed he quickly retrieved his overnight bag from the slowly rotating, and wonderfully infuriating, conveyor belt and secured a rental car- he was on his way to Will.

Jack had been gracious enough to provide the hotel directions. Driving by a dingy little diner, he supposed he could offer Will a sign of courtship even humans could understand- breakfast.

Eventually, meal procured in a takeout container, Hannibal knocked on the door of the motel room and watched as _Wil-_ Will Graham opened the door. For a moment, his breath left his throat as he looked at the mortal his husband had become. He was magnificent. Human as he may be, at this current moment in time, a small drop in the bucket in the span of Will's existence… he truly could not be contained to this form regardless. That mind was ever expanding, greedy and soaking up the experiences around him, always seeking to _see_.

Something in Hannibal’s face must have given something away, some sense of adoration and longing, because Will stepped back a bit and gave Hannibal a quizzical look, “Is everything alright Doctor Lecter?”

Hannibal realized he had been staring and tilted his head down a bit at the breakfast he had brought from a nearby restaurant. It had been a small, local breakfast place owned by an elderly couple. Their food had appeared adequate and Hannibal hadn’t had time for anything else with everything that had occurred the night before. 

“I brought breakfast,” he said, having far more difficulty than normal forming the eloquent and lengthy sentences he was used to. How could he, when the man he had quite literally given his life for was standing right in front of him?

Will continued to look at him and made no move to let him inside his hotel room. They simply stared at each other, unmoving and Will seemed a bit confused saying, “Why?”

“I thought you might be hungry.”

“I mean,” Will looked around for a minute, “Why are you here in Duluth bringing me breakfast at eight in the morning? I thought your practice was based out of Baltimore?”

Hannibal felt his cheeks heat up just a bit, realizing he had yet to explain why he was here. “Jack called. He is deposed in court today and informed me I would be of help on this stretch of the investigation. Interviewing subjects is one area of expertise where a psychiatrist might be of use.”

Will nodded, “Makes sense.”

“If you would like, I brought enough to eat for two,” Hannibal began inexplicably nervous even this small gesture might be refused, “May I come in?”

Will stepped aside and ushered Hannibal into the motel room. There was a small table Hannibal headed towards and placed the plastic containers down onto. He grabbed the set of plates that he bought and opened the food he had bought.

“I hope you enjoy salsa verde baked eggs” Hannibal began, “I am a very particular person about the food I eat and had I the time, I would have prepared the food myself. Alas, time appeared to slip away from me and so I found myself stopping by a local restaurant on the way here.”

Will chuckled a bit and picked up a spoonful eating it and saying, “Well it’s delicious. I can’t imagine giving yourself the expectation of cooking a meal while the FBI sends you across the country.”

“I have high expectations placed upon myself.”

Will sighed, “Of course you do.”

Hannibal cocked an eyebrow, his mouth tilting up a fraction, “And I suppose you claim to know me well enough to sigh at my actions already?”

“It’s simply something I have found analytic types like yourself have in common.”

“Analytic types? I would apologize for my ambush yesterday but I believe we both understand that I am not and I would rather save my apologies for the circumstances that require it.”

Will leaned back in his chair a bit, his eyes showing a new type of interest in Hannibal that made him feel warmed to his bones, “You have both more and less decency than most Doctor Lecter.”

Hannibal hated the way Will referred to him so formally. They had spent centuries by each other's side yet Will kept him at an arm’s length. He just wanted Will to remember and understand. 

He found himself saying, “Feel free to call me Hannibal, we are colleagues at the moment.”

“Let’s keep it professional,” Will said with a slight grimace.

Hannibal tried to push a little further, craving more connection, “Or we could socialize like adults, God forbid we become friendly.”

Will looked at him, “I don’t find you that interesting.”

Hannibal wondered then, if he were to summon a knife and cut a line across Will’s throat, if he were to watch his husband bleed out on the floor of this motel, if he would ascend as Hannibal had. If the body would lay to rest on the floor only for his eyes to open to that bright cerulean blue. He shook his head to dispel the thought. To this day, he had no idea how Will had ended up in this situation. It was a possibility Will might not ascend the same way most gods would and that killing him….would be permanent. Hannibal would not allow himself to take that chance. For now, he would have to remain content with this mortal shell of his partner. 

“You will,” he said, allowing himself a smile then, thinking of all the time they would have together. 

There was something dangerous in the air between them, a spark, a lit flame and as they walked towards the car, on their way to the first of a number of construction sites, Hannibal found himself desiring to light that spark fully. 

They drove in silence, Hannibal occasionally looking over at Will, smiling, simply happy that after so long apart they were once more together. It felt good, it felt right. As they pulled into the first location, Will turned to Hannibal and gave him an odd look.

“What are you smiling at?” 

“Peeking behind the curtain,” Hannibal began, “I’m just curious how the FBI goes about its business when it’s not kicking in doors.”

Will rolled his eyes and Hannibal couldn’t help but notice the way the gray sky seemed to be reflected in Will’s eyes. Perhaps he was exaggerating but every moment he was around Will, he felt a little more whole. Their incomplete bond felt like an aching limb to Hannibal and despite his ability to tell that Will was alive and here in front of him, Hannibal still felt like he wasn’t there. It was an odd feeling, and being able to look at Will helped abate it, if not entirely get rid of it.

They headed towards the small administration office on site as Will said, “You’re lucky we’re not doing house-to-house interviews. We found a little piece of metal in Elise Nichols’ clothes and a shred from a pipe threader.”

“It’s impressive the forensic team was able to determine such a specific site.”

“They are the best in the FBI. Jack only chooses the best. There’s gonna be a certain kind of metal, certain kind of pipe, certain kind of pipe coating, so we’re checking all the construction sites that use that kind of pipe.”

Hannibal put his hands in his pockets as they walked up the stairs, “What are we looking for?”

“At this stage, anything really. But mostly, anything peculiar.”

Will went to open the door and they stepped into the office. There was a woman sitting at a desk and Will walked to her and brought out his badge, “Special Agent with the FBI. Would you mind if we had a look at your employment records?”

The woman looked absolutely shocked and nodded a bit blankly so Will sighed and let his sharp stance drop, relaxing his shoulders and allowing a bashful smile, “There’s nothing for you to be concerned with, we are simply doing some data checks for a case we are working right now. If you’d like, feel free to wait here at the desk, call whoever you like.”

At his soft posture and words, the woman relaxed a bit, “Well then I suppose that’s fine,” she said, “the files are just in that cabinet over there.”

Will turned away from her and immediately his face changed from open to concerned once more and his shoulders straightened as he went to the files. Hannibal looked interested. That was something Will had never done in their time together. Of course, Will was by far more empathetic and understanding to mortals than Hannibal had ever been but he had never been able to connect with them like that. He wondered if it was a part of the “empathy disorder” he had heard Jack and others talk about. Hannibal had assumed it was simply some of Will’s abilities manifesting in human form, but well, now he wasn’t so sure.

Will looked back at Hannibal, “Would you like to help?” he asked as an afterthought as Will had already looked through two files. 

“I am a consultant in this case, I suppose it would be prudent to do at least some amount of work worthy of the cost of hiring me.”

With a roll of his eyes, Will turned back to the files, “of course you are charging an arm and a leg.”

Hannibal remembered Will normally held no desires such as his for the finer things in life, preferring to live in what was more attainable a setting so he cleared his throat and tried another approach, opening a file to look into it, “What exactly classifies as peculiar to you?”

“Boxes left blank, seemingly false information, anything out of the ordinary. You can keep looking through the recent hires and I will keep searching through these resignation letters.”

All that was required from Hannibal was a nod. He read through the monotonous papers and began to realize there was a sense of the hunt emanating from somewhere in this room. Odd. It wasn’t his presence. Well, it wasn’t strong enough to be a god, merely a worshipper. Those were rare these days but Hannibal figured he would find out what it was soon enough so he ignored the feeling. 

He tried to hold small talk with Will as they worked in an attempt to get closer but he soon realized some of their previously shared hobbies, mainly taking the lives of humans and watching natural disasters wipe away civilizations wouldn’t be appropriate conversation holders in the current climate of mortality Will was still under. 

Hannibal wracked his mind for activities they did that weren’t directly related to their godly activities. It had been a while since he and Will had been together among humans, nearly the 1960s. 

“Do you like to dance?” Hannibal said, remembering how they had gone to a dance club about a decade before Will’s disappearance and how the two of them were often found at different galas throughout history under a variety of assumed names. 

As soon as the words left his mouth Hannibal regretted it, and by the look Will was giving Hannibal, the other man likely thought him on the verge of a stroke so he desperately tried to save face. 

“This is a complicated dance is it not? The dance between predator and prey? The killer hunts his victims yet we hunt him. It makes one wonder who is hunting us, if the cycle were to continue.”

He breathed a soft sigh as Will rolled his eyes in the gesture Hannibal was beginning to associate with _overly complicated psychiatrists_ and turned back to his work without a word. 

The woman at the desk picked up the phone and called what appeared to be her supervisor. Clearly, the charmed words Will had spoken had an expiration date. 

“Two fellas from the FBI,” She was saying with a matter-of-fact tone. “They are going through the drawers now. They are putting papers in file boxes. Yes, they are taking things. No. Well, they didn’t say– Yes, they can. What did you say your names were?”

Will ignored her and Hannibal was about to speak up when he was cut off by Will saying, “Garret Jacob Hobbs?”

The woman was a bit taken aback by his refusal to respond but answered anyways, “He’s one of our pipe threaders. Those are all the resignation letters. Plumbers’ Union requires them whenever members finish a job.” She whispered into the phone, “I’ll call you back,” then hung up.

Hannibal looked at the file. It reeked of the hunt. He knew without a doubt this was the Minnesota Shrike. There was someone or something in the Hobb’s house that followed his pantheon and Hannibal felt the taste of worship on his tongue. After so long without, it was delicious. 

“Does Mr. Hobbs have a daughter?” Will asked in an efficient tone of voice, flipping through the papers.

The woman shrugged, “Might have.”

Will ran his hands through his hair in slight frustration, “Eighteen or 19, wind-chafed, uh, plain but pretty. She’d have auburn hair, about this tall,” he finished, gesturing with his hand

Once more, the woman was less than helpful, “Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t keep company with these people.”

Hannibal opted to spare her further discomfort and get to the Hobb’s residence as quickly as possible, “What is it about Garrett Jacob Hobbs you find so peculiar?”

Part of him hoped Will had just sensed something peculiar, that perhaps he could sense more than he knew but Will’s answer dashed that particular hope, “He left a phone number, no address.”

Hannibal peared over Will’s shoulder, “And therefore he has something to hide?”

“The others all left addresses,” he turned to the receptionist, “Do you have an address for Mr. Hobbs?”

She dutifully gave it and then Hannibal and Will were on their way. 

As they drove Hannibal once more tried to start up small talk with Will. 

“What exactly does a special agent do when he is not interrogating and traveling?” Hannibal tried to ask in a casual tone of voice.

Will scoffed a bit, “I like dogs a fair amount. Mostly fishing, if I had to pick a hobby.”

He couldn't help it. Hannibal let out a laugh. Will had been literally created from the ocean and as a mortal he liked to fish. He was relatively certain Will had created certain species of fish. 

“What’s wrong with fishing?” Will said defensively. 

“Nothing,” Hannibal said honestly, “It suits you.”

Will looked forward as they continued to drive. Hannibal knew exactly what they would find at that house but Will still had a sense of unsureness to him. 

“You seemed to be second-guessing your previous assumptions,” Hannibal said. 

“Not second-guessing,” Will assured him, “Just, well, just worried I might have been a bit too fast with the assumption. It felt too obvious. Like the killer wants to be found.”

“Then I suppose we should prepare ourselves for anything,” Hannibal said as they pulled up to a small, very normal looking suburban house. 

Will had his gun in the holster at his side and Hannibal walked a half-step behind him as they approached the door. After ringing the doorbell, Will stepped back and a young girl opened the door. Hannibal’s eyes widened. He had never felt someone so young so close to ascension before. She was practically dripping with worship and the hunt. This young girl had killed before, and judging by the way her eyes looked right past Will into Hannibal’s own, she knew he had too. Will raised his badge and said, “FBI, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

His voice must have carried because from a direction at the back of the house, there was a clatter of silverware and then a man came out of what might be a kitchen, holding a knife to a woman’s throat. 

“Dad!” the girl shouted, running towards the man but Hannibal grabbed her arm and shook his head no. The movement was sharp and the girl stood frozen. She knew, somehow, that Hannibal was powerful, that he was other but she didn’t quite understand how yet. His eyes might have flashed gold because the girl tried to take a step back but Hannibal simply held her arm tighter, enough to certainly leave a bruise. 

“Don’t move,” Hannibal said in a low, quick whisper. 

He didn’t want this girl to risk herself when she was close to ascension. It would be a terrible waste and there hadn’t been a new god in their pantheon for centuries. Almost all of them died too early, without enough power to fully ascend in death. 

“Garrett Jacob Hobbs,” Will said, raising his hands in a non-threatening manner and slowly making his way towards the man, “We know what you did.”

Of course, Will hadn’t known, hadn’t realized until the man had come out of his kitchen with a knife to the woman, likely his wife’s throat. In his panic, Hobbs had exposed himself. 

“I had to do it,” Hobbs was saying, frantic in his speech, “She couldn’t leave, she couldn't!”

The girl was shaking now in Hannibal’s grip but he kept a tight grasp. Hobbs wasn’t moving anytime soon so Hannibal sent a thrill of the hunt into the space around them, the feeling that you needed to act now or lose any chance you had to accomplish any goals you desired. 

This sparked a reaction in Hobbs who drew the knife along his wife’s throat and as soon as he had begun moving, Will had gone for his gun and before Hobbs had even taken a step away from his wife, Will had quickly emptied the clip, 5 rounds, into Hobb’s chest, causing the man to fall to the ground, breath stuttering alongside his wife’s. 

“Hannibal,” Will said, his voice wavering, “Leave and call Jack now. Take the girl with you.”

Will stood over the body, the gun still pointed down at Hobbs. Hannibal could imagine that Will had taken the life of this human in sacrifice, that he had done it in the name of the fates, in the name of duty. For a moment, he imagined he could see his husband in the shadows of this mortal man, his hair floating in an invisible wind. Then it was gone and Hannibal watched as Will Graham’s hands began shaking so he turned away. 

He followed Will’s instructions, grabbing Abigail’s arms and leading her outside. As they left, he heard Hobbs mutter a phrase he would not have been able to make out without better hearing, “See,” the dying man said, “See.”

Once outside, a quick call to the authorities was made and he sent a text to Jack. Then Hannibal spun the girl around and looked into her eyes, letting his bleed until nothing but gold remained, “Why do you worship? Think carefully, your answer will determine what happens next to you.”

She shudders, and Hannibal realizes how truly young she is and softens his grip on her arms, just a touch. He would never admit to it, but he had a certain softness for the young gods. It reminded him of when he had just been born, new to this world and while she certainly wasn’t a god yet, she could be. And as Hannibal knew, his pantheon hadn’t hadn’t a new god in centuries and he was certain, she would fit in well. He had a feeling. 

“My father worshipped because it was what his father did, and his father before him.”

“I asked why you worship, don’t hide behind the paltry actions of your interior ancestors.”

She paused, and then looked him right in his unnatural golden eyes, “I felt a call. Every Time I saw a girl run in fear it felt right in a way nothing had ever before. It wasn’t worship, it was a calling.”

Hannibal nodded. That was how he remembered feeling all those thousands of years ago as a human. Not every person could ascend, some would only ever be worshippers but she was special. 

“What’s your name?”

“Abigail Hobbs,” she said with confidence, “and I assume you are not human.”

Hannibal smiled and for a second, his godly form overlaid his human once, “You assumed correctly. Your father was weak, I believe you can be better. Would you allow me to guide you?”

“Only if you will answer my questions, I can’t trust you on your word alone.”

“Fair, now chin down, it seems there are officers arriving.”

On cue, she began to cry, loud sobs emanating from her body as she clutched Hannibal’s jacket. He wasn’t completely sure they were false either. Once you had a group of worshippers, of followers, it felt like a missing limb when they were gone. While a mortal’s bond had no chance of creating something as strong as a bond between gods, Abigail had likely felt the loss of her bond with her father quite keenly and Hannibal could already feel her developing sense reaching out to try and form a familial bond with him already, desperate for some sense of connection. Without connection, gods went mad. 

Hannibal couldn’t find it within himself to be upset at this development. As he said, his pantheon would welcome new gods. Of course, normally he would have liked to consult Will before adopting someone into their family but circumstances didn’t currently allow for that so he would have to involve his partner’s mortal self as much as possible. 

Jack Crawford walked towards them and saw Hannibal holding tightly onto the sobbing girl.  
“What happened.” Jack said, voice curt. It was strange, there seemed to be an anger in his eyes that Hannibal hoped wasn’t for him. 

Hannibal relayed a brief version of events before Jack nodded and moved to go inside, “Will better come out of this whole,” Jack said, and went into the home which now had officers crawling all over it. 

It was odd, Hannibal thought, that Jack would care so much for a man he had a casual acquaintance with. He would file that away for later. 

Hannibal moved with Abigail to sit inside one the ambulances that had arrived on scenes and held her hand as an officer asked her question after question. She seemed in proper shock now, the events of the day and loss of her familiar bonds tearing at her. 

Jack and Will came back out, Will trembling a bit and Jack patted him on the back before moving over to Hannibal. 

“Apologies Doctor Lecter,” Jack said, “I would hardly have pictured your first outing to be so dramatic.”

Hannibal waved his hand, “No apologies needed, it could not have been expected.”

Jack shook his head, looking at Abigail, “Since you are a minor, we were thinking of putting you into protective custody for a few days while we get everything figured out, then we can explore potential options for you. I realize this is all a bit much, so you don’t have to say anything right now. Just know that we are here for you.”

Abigail nodded blankly and looked at Hannibal, he realized she would probably drop into some kind of trance soon, her developing powers drained by the events of the day. He squeezed her hand, “I will be there Abigail, for now I need you to go with the FBI.”

She nodded and was gently led off by a paramedic. Jack looked at Hannibal, “It appears you’ve made a connection.”

“Unexpected yet not unwelcome.”

“That’s going to be an interesting turn of events,” Jack said, “Now if you wouldn’t mind giving your statement, we can probably get you into a hotel room before nine.”

He didn’t see Will, not while giving his statement, not while getting driven to a different hotel than where Will had been staying. He didn’t even have the excuse of needing to get his bag as it had been an overnight bad he had given back to him by an agent as he went to give his statement. Hannibal wondered where Will could be. 

Despite his misgivings, Hannibal fell asleep quickly but it was not a long rest. Brief glimpses of Will’s dreams flashed underneath Hannibal’s eyelids and he found himself in discontent. Will did not dream of him, them, their existence together. He dreamt of mortal terrors and the mental diseases of man, his body and mind filled to the brim with the souls of the dead waiting for the ultimate judgement. He could hear echoes of Will’s gasps and whimpers of terror in his ears and Hannibal frowned. Will’s thoughts were not with him. Hannibal grit his teeth and felt a displeased snarl unfurling behind his lips.

Glancing at the clock, the time read a bright red 3:46AM. The moon hung low and unnaturally dim in the sky. It was not particularly cloudy but the light pollution of the inner city snuffed out any view of the cosmos above. Hannibal gazed into the night, pensive and calculating. 

Seeing Will again had knocked something stuck inside of him loose. His husband was beautiful, iridescent. His form was lithe but strong, body firm and masculine, under his clothing. His chestnut hair was wild and unruly, untamable, with curls that tossed about his crown like glorious waves. He had a deep-set cupid’s bow giving his lips a unique but beckoning form. Hannibal did not even mind the unkempt facial hair, though he preferred Will’s face unshaved when he decided to traipse around in his person-suit. Hannibal particularly enjoyed his eyes, cerulean and stormy or bright and clear, just like Will’s seas. 

Above all, Will’s mind came as a tempest, tossing the sails and destroying the mast of Hannibal’s inner-domain. Hannibal let himself be swept away. Will’s mind remained vast and deep, stretching far beyond any human boundary and feeling more deeply and truly than any mortal could dream of achieving. Will was the most glorious god amongst a world infested with cattle.

The bond between them loomed soft and warm deep in Hannibal’s chest, though weakened and distant. He couldn’t tell if he truly felt the bond or if he was simply imaging the feeling for the comfort it brought him. It did little to ease Hannibal’s unrest or loneliness but he did not deny himself the feeling it brought. 

Desirous of better time, he plucked a memory from the recesses of his mind. He remembered the first time he and Will attempted touch in the way of the humans. Gently Hannibal pushed his thoughts from macabre to sexual.

_They had been restless and bored, both filled with tamped up energy bouncing between the two of them as they watched the Romans fight. The smell of olive oil permeating the air mixing with sweat. The grunts and groans of men being pinned beneath each other. His companion watched the wrestlers with a sense of distant fascination. Hanníbas watched them with extreme boredom._

_His paramor had not been particularly fond of Hanníbas at that point in time but his curiosity won over his resentment. They had only met a couple times, at this point, and Hanníbas had not left a particularly good impression. However, HE knew Hanníbas would acquiesce to any demand that was made of him. Would hunt any desire, kill any foe, if only it made HIM a little more receptive to Hanníbas’s bloody affections._

_When HE pinned him with a heated but quiet gaze he had no choice but to agree to whatever HE would ask of him. HE conjured a pot of oil, dangling precariously from his fingertips, and he knew what was expected of him._

_He stripped down by HIS lead, watching as his counterpart disrobed and bared himself to the world. He watched HIM with heated intensity as he cupped oil into his palm and slowly dragged his rough and calloused hands across his chest. Hanníbas watched as drops of oil left lazy paths slowly crawling down HIS body and he was struck by the sudden need to lick them off the tantalizing body in front of him. Hanníbas had considered the act of sex a distant pastime, a hazy memory of the past before he ascended through death. He was pleased to realize he assumed incorrectly._

_Hanníbas threw oil on himself in a daze, wholly distracted, as he watched HIS hands drift lower to rub across toned legs. He watched the skin ripple across HIS thighs as his fingertips lightly dug into flesh. The hair along his shins and calves was wet and shiny from the oil and Hanníbas wanted to try and tug on the strands with his teeth. He wanted to sink his fangs into those shapely thighs and leave bite-shaped marks over the expanse of them. He wanted HIM to want those marks in his skin, to willingly allow them to sting and bruise, just for Hanníbas’s pleasure._

_Nestled in between strong thighs and dark coarse hair was HIS cock. The sight had Hanníbas’s mouth watering. It was a nice looking cock, girthy and hooded. It was not too long in length but not particularly small. It looked like it would feel heavy in Hannibal’s hand if he were to grasp it and stroke. He swallowed harshly, willing his own to remain flaccid, and dragged his eyes back up to meet HIS stormy blue._

_HE had merely gazed at him with intense curiosity. His stare felt heated and heavy. Hanníbas felt HIM move his own gaze across Hanníbas’s body, assessing, and it made his disobedient penis twitch. He licked his lips._

_His companion had initiated contact, reaching out and firmly grasping Hannibal's shoulder, and Hanníbas swore it felt like electricity running down his spine. The game was on._

_"Do not try to cheat. I will know," HE said, adjusting his grip._

_Hanníbas circled his hand around HIS wrist and traveled the path up his forearm, past his bicep, before he, too, took hold of HIS shoulder. HIS skin was soft allowing his hand to glide freely over the expanse of it._

_Hanníbas was determined to win and claim reward._

_They began to grapple in earnest. Tight grips that would bruise, accidental scratches from over eager hands, the slippery feel of their skin sliding together. Hanníbas grasped the back of HIS neck with one hand while his other snaked around to try and take hold of the back of a thigh, intents on pinning the other man._

_He knew he fell into a trap when HIS eyes flashed in amusement as he allowed himself to be pinned to the ground. Before Hanníbas could get a good grip on the slick body beneath him HE hooked his leg around his waist and flipped their positions._

_He felt his arms get yanked over his head by the wrists as HE ground his hips down over him, effectively pinning him. He could feel HIS hard cock laying heavy and fat between the junction of his thigh and pelvis, so close yet so far from his own hardness. It was the most delightful of tortures._

_Hanníbas felt, rather than heard, his own panting as he attempted to grind up into the hard body above him. His eyes fluttered closed as a soft sigh escaped his mouth. He could feel the object of his desire staring at him curiously, probably wondering how far he could push this young god before breaking him apart._

_"I seem to have won this round," he vaguely heard HIM say. He was too busy reveling in the feel of the sweet hot slide against his cock, his body on fire, and the easy glide of their bodies. He could feel the waves of curious amusement radiating off of HIM as Hanníbas continued to grind his hips against HIS thigh._

_He felt HIM adjust his grip so that both of Hanníbas’s hands were pinned underneath a single hand. HE trailed his free hand down Hanníbas’s arm and up through his chest hair, fingertips catching on the strands and pulling, before making it to Hanníbas’s throat. HE pressed down and squeezed lightly. With a high needy sound, Hanníbas tilted his head back, allowing HIM full access to his neck._

_"You lose and yet you still attempt to claim a reward, grinding and bucking against me like an animal in heat," HE chuckled._

_Hanníbas shifted underneath HIM and bucked again, making sure the angle allowed their cocks to grind against each other. He heard HIM let out a choked gasp, caught off guard, and the hand on his neck tightened unthinkingly. He was sure his wrists would be bruised, a perfect ring in the shape of HIS fingers. He ached for it._

_HE growled from above him and ground his hips down in retaliation causing Hanníbas’s eyes to roll back into his head. He attempted to yank his arms out of HIS hold, wanting to dig his fingertips into the line of HIS waist and to bite at his sweaty glistening chest. HE was unrelenting._

_HE let go of his neck to sharply slap his hand against Hanníbas’s broad chest, digging his nails into the flesh under his palm and leaving red raised welts in their path. HE let out a satisfied groan and began grinding his hips in earnest, setting a fast and heavy pace. Hanníbas could only lay there and take it, pleasure sparking across his spine. It felt as though HE ripped the heart out of his body and sank his teeth into the hard muscle._

_"Please," Hanníbas gasped, "Please. Let me touch you. Oh, my God. God, look at you. I feel like I'm drowning."_

_He felt HIM tense above him and released a shuddering breath as hot, sticky, streams of cum splattered against Hanníbas’s lower stomach. Hanníbas moaned and tossed his head, trying to chase his own feeling of release._

_HE blinked down at him with a lazy gaze, open and hazy, and HE smiled. HE stilled his hips and his cock slowly softened back to its natural state. Hanníbas trashed and snarled, trying to flip their positions. He wanted to feel and taste and mark. His cock was painfully hard, begging for release._

_"I've claimed my reward. I'll take my leave of you now," HE said, amused and satisfied, before he dislodged himself from Hanníbas’s body._

_Hanníbas groaned at the loss of body contact, cock tip wet and gleaming, as he watched HIM saunter away from him, nude and unabashed. He was helpless, dragging his fingers through the cum resting on his belly with one hand as the other wrapped firm and tight around his cock. He sucked the cum off his fingertips and moaned at the exquisite taste of HIM blooming across his tongue. He couldn’t help imagining HIS fat cock in his mouth, begging to be worshipped and sucked._

_As that image permeated in the forefront of his mind he felt his body tense. With a sharp hiss between his teeth he shivered as white-hot pleasure took over his body and he came all over his fist, feeling like the breath was plucked from his lungs._

_Slowly he relaxed and laid panting on the ground, plans already forming in his mind._

Hannibal could imagine Will’s sleeping form in his mind intimately. He could picture the musky scent of his pre-cum as he blindly rutted into his dingy uncomfortable mattress, his moans muffled by the pillow under his head, as he unconsciously bit and tore at the fabric with his teeth. He could hear the deep satisfied groan as Will found his release, staining his sheets.

He opened his eyes and he was alone once more in a hotel room in Duluth. He snarled and fell back against the sheets. Soon, Will would remember. Or Hannibal would find a way to make this mortal form his just as much as his husband’s once was. 

…

 _750 BCE, Vendel Period, Undisclosed beach, Uppland_ _  
__  
_ _Hanníbas stood back and watched his handiwork with pride. He is currently standing, watching the throes of battle between warriors in this harsh, cold landscape. He is especially fond of their helmets, though rather strange looking. These people seem quite preoccupied with hiding their noses. He supposes it’s for the best- a smashed nose can lead to death._

_He tastes the quiver of anger and territorial instinct hovering over the land. These men are not the type of men to be subjugated to one area, no matter how harsh the landscape may match their brawny and tough forms. Hanníbas would find it inspiring if he were not the one to inspire such actions in the first place. All it took was a little emotional nudge and a few conveniently placed battle axes for this group to turn on each other swinging._

_Hanníbas feels a puff of air hit the back of his neck and the distinct smell of the Ocean settle around him. His face twitches into a gleeful smile as he turns to greet his companion._

_When he takes a glance at the man, and indeed it is a man, standing behind him he is taken aback. He glances around him, confused and uncertain._

_The man in front of him laughs, quiet and shaky- as though he isn’t used to human vocal chords yet._

_“Is this what you do with your time, day in and day out? Make animals fight and brawl for scraps as you watch on? I feel like that would become tiresome,” the man remarks, his eyes filled with quiet mirth._

_“Do we know each other?,” Hanníbas asks, reaching for his battleaxe with caution._

_The man’s shoulders slump slightly as he rolls his eyes, exasperated._

_“Seeing as the last time we saw each other I had you terrified of the ocean washing you away I would assume I made more of a lasting impression.”_

_Hanníbas gave a sharp inhale, “You-”_

_“Me. Yes.”_

_A cheeky grin._

_“You look like a mortal. More distinctly mortal, I should say,” he quickly says, correcting his blunder. This figure before him is much beyond that of a mortal being._

_“And you look… less. More a beast than a man behind those eyes now. You’ve grown a little though you are still a babe.”_

_Hanníbas shifts his feet, unable to tell if that was a compliment or an insult upon him._

_“I do recall promising to offer you a name to address me by, if I ever deemed to take one,” a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “And I have so deemed to take one.”_

_Hanníbas looks at him sharply, intent and focused._

_“You may call me Vilja.”_

_“Vilja?,” Hanníbas chuckles under his breath. “Fitting. A name meaning “to want,” “to please”.... “Pleasure.” You take a name to tease me, knowing the depths of my desire for you.”_

_Vilja shrugs, unapologetic and sharp with their teasing._

_Hanníbas is vaguely aware of the men coming to a truce in the background. They have decided on new territory lines and family names. Very few of their number are dead. He does not regret neglecting their need to hunt, to fight, for this opportunity._

_He gestures to the bonfire, lit high and bright on the short of the beach. Vilja follows him as he makes his way there, snagging food and drink from the people milling about without a care. He sits on the sand and offers a dark ale to the imposing being before him._

_Vilja smiles but remains standing._ _  
_ _"Why will you not sit still, where I can rest and gaze upon you? Rest with me for a while,” Hanníbas pleaded. He beseeches his quiet longing to reach out and touch Vilja, to warm him with its sincerity._

_Vilja turns, looking into the waves, and shakes his head. He has a small smile upon his lips._

_“The Ocean is most dangerous when the water is still, Hanníbas. Don't tempt fate too soon,” Vilja replied, a sardonic smirk gracing his features._

_“You are not leaving already? Please, do not go where I cannot follow. I yearn for you, your company. Too many years shall pass before you are before me again.”_

_He felt desperate and adrift in the Tempest._

_“I have duties beckoning me, Hanníbas, in my waves. I must go. We shall meet again.”_

_Hanníbas stands quickly, desperate, and reaching._

_“No, please, I beg--!”_

_Vilja was already gone._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for the Chapter:   
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Also, if you want to join the 18+ Hannibal Discord server, here's the [link ](https://discord.gg/DV4BErE9VS). We are a bunch of writers and creators and lovers of Hannibal so if you want a space to connect with other creators, here's the place. We are always looking for more writers to join or even betas for people's works!!
> 
> We also have a bi-weekly flashfic contest if you want a fun excuse to write short Hannibal one-shots.


End file.
